 CHAPTER I. THE MAGNET ATTRACTING. A WAVE AMID FORCES. When Caroline Meber boarded the afternoon train for Chicago, her total outfit consisted of a small trunk, a cheap imitation alligator skin satchel, a small lunch in a paper box, and a yellow leather snap purse containing her ticket, a scrap of paper with her sister's address in Van Burenstreet, and four dollars in money. It was August, 1889. She was eighteen years of age, bright, timid, and full of the illusions of ignorance and youth. Whatever touch of regret at parking characterized her thoughts, it was certainly not for advantages now being given up. A gush of tears at her mother's farewell kiss, a touch in her throat when the cars clacked by the flour mill where her father worked by the day, a pathetic sigh as the familiar green environs of the village passed in review, and the threads which bound her so lightly to girlhood and home were irretrievably broken. To be sure there was always the next station, where one might descend and return. There was the great city bound more closely by these very trains which came up daily. Columbia City was not very far away, even when she was in Chicago. What prey is a few hours, a few hundred miles. She looked at the little slip bearing her sister's address and wondered. She gazed at the green landscape, now passing in swift review, until her swifter thoughts replaced its impression with vague conjectures of what Chicago might be. When a girl leaves her home at eighteen, she does one of two things. Either she falls into saving hands and becomes better, or she rapidly assumes the cosmopolitan standard of virtue and becomes worse. Of an intermediate balance under the circumstances, there is no possibility. The city has its cunning wiles, no less than the infinitely smaller and more human tempter. There are large forces which allure with all the soulfulness of expression possible in the most cultured human. The gleam of a thousand lights is often as effective as the persuasive light in a wooing and fascinating eye. Half the undoing of the unsophisticated and natural mind is accomplished by forces wholly superhuman. A blare of sound, a roar of life, a vast array of human hives appeal to the astonished senses in equivocal terms. Without a counselor at hand to whisper cautious interpretations, what falsehoods may not these things breathe into the unguarded ear? Unrecognized for what they are, their beauty like music too often relaxes, then weakens, then perverts the simple human perceptions. Caroline or sister Carrie as she had been half affectionately turned by the family was possessed of a mind rudimentary in its power of observation and analysis. Self interest with her was high, but not strong. It was nevertheless her guiding characteristic. Warm with the fancies of youth, pretty with the insipid prettiness of the formative period, possessed of a figure promising eventual shapeliness, and an eye alight with certain native intelligence, she was a fair example of the middle American class, two generations removed from the immigrant. Books were beyond her interest, knowledge a sealed book. In the intuitive graces she was still crude. She could scarcely toss her head gracefully. Her hands were almost ineffectual. The feet, though small, were set flatly. And yet she was interested in her charms, quick to understand the keener pleasures of life, ambitious to gain in material things. A half-equipped little knight she was, venturing to reconnoitre the mysterious city and dreaming wild dreams of some vague, far-off supremacy which should make it prey and subject the proper penitent groveling at a woman's slipper. That, said a voice in her ear, is one of the prettiest little resorts in Wisconsin. Is it? she answered nervously. The train was just pulling out of Wokisha. For some time she had been conscious of a man behind. She felt him observing her massive hair. He had been fidgeting, and with natural intuition she felt a certain interest growing in that quarter. Her maidenly reserve, and a certain sense of what was conventional under the circumstances, called her to forestall and deny this familiarity. But the daring and magnetism of the individual, born of past experiences and triumphs, prevailed. She answered. He leaned forward to put his elbows upon the back of her seat, and proceeded to make himself volubley agreeable. Yes, that is a great resort for Chicago people. The hotels are swell. You are not familiar with this part of the country, are you? Oh, yes, I am, answered Carrie. That is, I live at Columbia City. I have never been through here, though. And so this is your first visit to Chicago? He observed. All the time she was conscious of certain features out of the sight of her eye. Flush, colorful cheeks, a light mustache, a gray fedora hat. She now turned and looked upon him in full, the instincts of self-protection and coquetry mingling confusedly in her brain. I didn't say that, she said. Oh, he answered in a very pleasing way, and with an assuming air of mistake. I thought you did. Here was a type of the traveling canvasser for a manufacturing house, a class which at that time was first being dubbed by the slang of the day, drummers. He came within the meaning of a still newer term, which had sprung into general use among Americans in 1880, and which concisely expressed the thought of one whose dress or manners are calculated to elicit the admiration of susceptible young women, a masher. His suit was of a striped and cross pattern of brown wool, new at that time, but since become familiar as a business suit. The low crotch of the vest revealed a stiff shirt bosom of white and pink stripes. From his coat sleeves protruded a pair of linen cuffs of the same pattern, fastened with large gold plate buttons, set with the common yellow agates known as cat's eyes. His fingers bore several rings, one the ever-enduring heavy seal, and from his vest dangled a neat gold watch chain, from which was suspended the secret insignia of the Order of Elks. The whole suit was rather tight-fitting, and was finished off with heavy-sold, tan shoes, highly polished, and the gray fedora hat. He was, for the order of intellect represented, attractive, and whatever he had to recommend him, you may be sure was not lost upon Carrie in this her first glance. Lest this order of individuals should permanently pass, let me put down some of the most striking characteristics of his most successful manner and method. Good clothes, of course, were the first essential, the things without which he was nothing. A strong physical nature, actuated by a keen desire for the feminine, was the next. A mind free of any consideration of the problems or forces of the world, an actuated not by greed, but by an insatiable love of variable pleasure. His method was always simple. Its principal element was daring, backed, of course, by an intense desire and admiration for the sex. Let him meet with a young woman once, and he would approach her with an air of kindly familiarity, not unmixed with pleading, which would result in most cases in a tolerant acceptance. If she showed any tendency to coca-tree, he would be apt to straighten her tie, or if she took up with him at all, to call her by her first name. If he visited a department store, it was to lounge familiarly over the counter and ask some leading questions. In more exclusive circles, on the train or in waiting stations, he went slower. If some seemingly vulnerable object appeared, he was all attention, to pass the complements of the day, to lead the way to the parlor-car carrying her grip, or failing that, to take a seat next to her with the hope of being able to court her to her destination. Pillows, books, a footstool, the shade lowered, all these figured in the things which he could do. If when she reached her destination he did not alight and attend her baggage for her, it was because in his own estimation he had signally failed. A woman should someday write the complete philosophy of clothes. No matter how young, it is one of the things she wholly comprehends. There is an indescribably faint line in the matter of a man's apparel, which somehow divides for her those who are worth glancing at and those who are not. Once an individual has passed this faint line on the way downward, he will get no glance from her. There is another line at which the dress of a man will cause her to study her own. This line, the individual at her elbow, now marked for Carrie. She became conscious of an inequality. Her own plain blue dress, with its black cotton-tape trimmings, now seemed to her shabby. She felt the worn state of her shoes. Let's see, he went on. I know quite a number of people in your town. Morgan Roth, the clothier, and Gibson, the dry-goods man. Oh, do you! she interrupted, aroused by memories of longings their show windows had cost her. At last he had a clue to her interest and followed it deftly. In a few minutes he had come about into her seat. He talked of sales of clothing, his travels, Chicago, and the amusements of that city. If you are going there, you will enjoy it immensely. Have you relatives? I am going to visit my sister, she explained. You want to see Lincoln Park, he said, and Michigan Boulevard. They are putting up great buildings there. It's a second New York. Great! So much to see. Theaters, crowds, fine houses. Oh, you'll like that! There was a little ache in her fancy of all he described. Her insignificance in the presence of so much magnificence faintly affected her. She realized that hers was not to be a round of pleasure, and yet there was something promising in all the material prospect he set forth. There was something satisfactory in the attention of this individual, with his good clothes. She could not help smiling as he told her of some popular actress of whom she reminded him. She was not silly, and yet attention of this sort had its weight. You'll be in Chicago some little time, won't you? He observed at one turn of the now easy conversation. I don't know, said Carrie Vagley, a flash vision of the possibility of her not securing employment rising in her mind. Several weeks anyhow, he said, looking steadily into her eyes. There was much more passing now than the mere words indicated. He recognized the indescribable thing that made up her fascination and beauty in her. She realized that she was of interest to him, from the one standpoint which a woman both delights in and fears. Her manner was simple, though for the very reason that she had not yet learned the many little affectations with which women conceal their true feelings. Something she did appeared bold. A clever companion, had she ever had one, would have warned her never to look a man in the eyes so steadily. Why do you ask? She said, Well, I'm going to be there several weeks. I'm going to study stock at our place and get new samples. I might show you round. I don't know whether you can or not. I mean, I don't know whether I can. I shall be living with my sister and well, if she minds, we'll fix that. He took out his pencil and a little pocket notebook, as if it were all settled. What is your address there? She fumbled in her purse which contained the address slip. He reached down in his hip pocket and took out a fat purse. It was filled with slips of paper, some mileage books, a roll of greenbacks. It impressed her deeply. Such a purse had never been carried by any one attentive to her. Indeed, an experienced traveler, a brisk man of the world, had never come within such close range before. The purse, the shiny tan shoes, the smart new suit, and the air with which he did things, built up for her a dim world of fortune, of which he was the center. It disposed her pleasantly toward all he might do. He took out a neat business card, on which was engraved Bartlett Cario in Company, and down in the left-hand corner, Chaz H. Druet. That's me, he said, putting the card in her hand and touching his name. It's pronounced Druet. Our family was French on my father's side. She looked at it while he put up his purse. Then he got out a letter from a bunch in his coat pocket. This is the house I travel for. He went on, pointing to a picture on it. Corner of State and Lake. There was pride in his voice. He felt that it was something to be connected with such a place, and he made her feel that way. What is your address? He began again, fixing his pencil to write. Carrie Meber, she said slowly, 354 West Van Buren Street, Care F. C. Hansen. He wrote it carefully down and got out the purse again. You'll be at home if I come around Monday night? He said. I think so, she answered. How true it is that words are but the vague shadows of the volumes we mean. Little audible links they are, chaining together great inaudible feelings and purposes. Here were these two, bandying little phrases, drawing purses, looking at cards, and both unconscious of how inarticulate all their real feelings were. Neither was wise enough to be sure of the working of the mind of the other. He could not tell how his luring succeeded. She could not realize that she was drifting until he secured her address. Now she felt that she had yielded something. He that he had gained a victory. Already they felt that they were somehow associated. Already he took control in directing the conversation. His words were easy. Her manner was relaxed. They were nearing Chicago. Signs were everywhere numerous. Trains flashed by them. Across wide stretches of flat open prairie they could see lines of telegraph poles stalking across the fields toward the great city. Far away were indications of suburban towns, some big smokestacks towering high in the air. Frequently there were two-story frame houses standing out in the open fields, without fence or trees, lone outposts of the approaching army of homes. To the child, the genius with imagination, or the holy untraveled, the approach to a great city for the first time is a wonderful thing. Particularly if it be evening, that mystic period between the glare and gloom of the world, when life is changing from one sphere or condition to another. Ah, the promise of the night. What does it not hold for the weary? What old illusion of hope is not here for ever repeated? Says the soul of the toiler to itself. I shall soon be free. I shall be in the ways and the hosts of the merry. The streets, the lamps, the lighted chambers set for dining are for me. The theatre, the halls, the parties, the ways of rest and the paths of song, these are mine in the night. Though all humanity be still enclosed in the shops, the thrill runs abroad. It is in the air. The dullest feel something they may not always express or describe. It is the lifting of the burden of toil. Sister Carrie gazed out of the window. Her companion, affected by her wonder, so contagious are all things, felt anew some interest in the city, and pointed out its marvels. This is Northwest Chicago, said Dreway. This is the Chicago River, and he pointed to a little muddy creek, crowded with huge masted wanderers from far off waters, nosing the black posted banks. With a puff, a clang, and a clatter of rails it was gone. Chicago is getting to be a great town, he went on. It's a wonder. You'll find lots to see here. She did not hear this very well. Her heart was troubled by a kind of terror. The fact that she was alone, away from home, rushing into a great sea of life and endeavor began to tell. She could not help but feel a little choked for breath, a little sick as her heart beat so fast. She half closed her eyes and tried to think it was nothing. That Columbia City was only a little way off. Chicago, Chicago, called the breakmen, slamming open the door. They were rushing into a more crowded yard, alive with the clatter and clang of life. She began to gather up her poor little grip and closed her hand firmly upon her purse. Dreway arose, kicked his legs to straighten his trousers, and seized his clean yellow grip. I suppose your people will be here to meet you, he said. Let me carry your grip. Oh no, she said. I'd rather you wouldn't. I'd rather you wouldn't be with me when I meet my sister. All right, he said in all kindness. I'll be near though, in case she isn't here, and take you out there safely. You're so kind, said Carrie, feeling the goodness of such attention in her strange situation. Chicago, called the breakmen, drawing the word out long. They were under a great shadowy train shed, where the lamps were already beginning to shine out, with passenger cars all about, and the train moving at a snail's pace. The people in the car were all up and crowding about the door. Well, here we are, said Dreway, leading the way to the door. Goodbye, till I see you Monday. Goodbye, she answered, taking his proffered hand. Remember, I'll be looking till you find your sister. She smiled into his eyes. They filed out, and he affected to take no notice of her. A leaned-faced, rather commonplace woman recognized Carrie on the platform, and hurried forward. Why, Sister Carrie, she began, and there was a perfunctory embrace of welcome. Carrie realized the change of affectionate atmosphere at once. Amid all the maze, uproar, and novelty, she felt cold reality taking her by the hand. No world of light and merriment. No round of amusement. Her sister carried with her most of the grimness of shift and toil. Why, how are all the folks at home, she began? How is father and mother? Carrie answered, but was looking away. Down the aisle toward the gate leading into the waiting room in the street stood Dreway. He was looking back. When he saw that she saw him and was safe with her sister he turned to go, sending back the shadow of a smile. Only Carrie saw it. She felt something lost to her when he moved away. When he disappeared she felt his absence thoroughly. With her sister she was much alone. A lone figure in a tossing thoughtless sea. Org. Recording by Carrie Bradfield. Sister Carrie by Theodore Dreiser. Chapter 2. What Poverty Threatened of Granite and Brass. Many's flat, as the one-floor resident apartments were then being called, was in a part of West Van Buren Street inhabited by families of laborers and clerks, men who had come and were still coming, with the rush of population pouring in at the rate of fifty thousand a year. It was on the third floor, the front windows looking down into the street, where, at night, the lights of grocery stores were shining and children were playing. To Carrie the sound of the little bells upon the horse cars, as they tingled in and out of hearing, was as pleasing as it was novel. She gazed into the lighted street when many brought her into the front room and wondered at the sounds, the movement, the murmur of the vast city which stretched for miles and miles in every direction. Mrs. Hanson, after the first greetings were over, gave Carrie the baby and proceeded to get supper. Her husband asked a few questions and sat down to read the evening paper. He was a silent man, American born of a sweet father, and now employed as a cleaner of refrigerator cars at the stockyards. To him the presence or absence of his wife's sister was a matter of indifference. Her personal appearance did not affect him one way or the other. His one observation to the point was concerning the chances of work in Chicago. It's a big place, he said. You can get in somewhere in a few days, everybody does. It had been tacitly understood beforehand that she was to get work and pay her board. He was of a clean saving disposition and had already paid a number of monthly installments on two lots far out on the west side. His ambition was some day to build a house on them. In the interval which marked the preparation of the meal, Carrie found time to study the flat. She had some slight gift of observation and that sense, so rich in every woman, intuition. She felt the drag of a lean and narrow life. The walls of the rooms were discordantly papered, the floors were covered with matting, and the hall laid with a thin rag carpet. One could see that the furniture was of that poor, hurriedly patched together quality sold by the installment houses. She sat with many in the kitchen, holding the baby until it began to cry. Then she walked and sang to it, until Hanson, disturbed in his reading, came and took it. A pleasant sigh to his nature came out here. He was patient. One could see that he was very much wrapped up in his offspring. Now, now, he said walking, there, there. And there was a certain Swedish accent noticeable in his voice. You'll want to see the city first, won't you? Said many when they were eating. Well, we'll go out Sunday and see Lincoln Park. Carrie noticed that Hanson had said nothing to this. He seemed to be thinking of something else. Well, she said, I think I'll look around tomorrow. I've got Friday and Saturday, and it won't be any trouble. Which way is the business part? Many began to explain, but her husband took this part of the conversation to himself. It's that way, he said, pointing east. That's east. Then he went off into the longest speech he had yet indulged in concerning the lay of Chicago. You'd better look in those big manufacturing houses along Franklin Street and just the other side of the river. He concluded, lots of girls work there. You could get home easy, too. It isn't very far. Carrie nodded and asked her sister about the neighborhood. The latter talked in a subdued tone, telling the little she knew about it, while Hanson concerned himself with the baby. Finally he jumped up and handed the child to his wife. I've got to get up early in the morning, so I'll go to bed. And off he went, disappearing into the dark little bedroom off the hall for the night. He works way down at the stockyards, explained many. What time do you get up to get breakfast, asked Carrie, so he's got to get up at half past five? At about twenty minutes of five. Together they finish the labor of the day, Carrie washing the dishes while Minnie undressed the baby and put it to bed. Minnie's manner was one of trained industry, and Carrie could see that it was a steady round of toil with her. She began to see that her relations with Druah would have to be abandoned. He could not come here. She read from the manner of Hanson in the subdued air of Minnie, and, indeed, the whole atmosphere of the flat, a settled opposition to anything save a conservative round of toil. If Hanson sat every evening in the front room and read his paper, if he went to bed at nine and Minnie a little later, what would they expect of her? She saw that she would first need to get work and establish herself on a paying basis before she could think of having company of any sort. Her little flirtation with Druah seemed now an extraordinary thing. No, she said to herself, he can't come here. She asked Minnie for ink and paper, which were upon the mantle in the dining room, and when the latter had gone to bed at ten, got out Druah's card and wrote him, I cannot have you call on me here, you will have to wait until you hear from me again. My sister's place is so small. She troubled herself over what else to put in the letter. She wanted to make some reference to their relations upon the train, but was too timid. She concluded by thanking him for his kindness in a crude way, then puzzled over the formality of signing her name, and finally decided upon the severe, winding up with a very truly, which she subsequently changed to sincerely. She sealed and addressed the letter, and going in the front room, the alcove of which contained her bed, drew the one small rocking chair up to the open window, and sat looking out upon the night and streets in silent wonder. Finally, wearied by her own reflections, she began to grow dull in her chair, and feeling the need of sleep arranged her clothing for the night and went to bed. When she awoke at eight the next morning, Hanson had gone. Her sister was busy in the dining-room, which was also the sitting-room, sewing. She worked after dressing to arrange a little breakfast for herself, and then advised with many as to which way to look. The latter had changed considerably since Carrie had seen her. She was now a thin, though rugged woman of twenty-seven, with ideas of life colored by her husbands, and fast-hardening into narrower conceptions of pleasure and duty than had ever been hers in a thoroughly circumscribed youth. She had invited Carrie, not because she longed for her presence, but because the latter was dissatisfied at home and could probably get work and pay her board here. She was pleased to see her in a way, but reflected her husband's point of view in the matter of work. Anything was good enough so long as it paid, say, five dollars a week to begin with. A shop girl was the destiny prefigured for the newcomer. She would get in one of the great shops and do well enough until—well, until something happened. Neither of them knew exactly what. They did not figure on promotion. They did not exactly count on marriage. Things would go on, though, in a dim kind of way, until the better thing would eventuate, and Carrie would be rewarded for coming and toiling in the city. It was under such auspicious circumstances that she started out this morning to look for work. Before following her in her round of seeking, let us look at the sphere in which her future was to lie. In 1889, Chicago had the peculiar qualifications of growth, which made such adventuresome pilgrimages even on the part of young girls plausible. Its many and growing commercial opportunities gave it widespread fame, which made of it a giant magnet, drawing to itself from all quarters the hopeful and the hopeless. Those who had their fortune yet to make, and those whose fortunes and affairs had reached a disastrous climax elsewhere. It was a city of over five hundred thousand, with the ambition, the daring, the activity of a metropolis of a million. Its streets and houses were already scattered over an area of seventy-five square miles. Its population was not so much thriving upon established commerce as upon the industries which prepared for the arrival of others. The sound of the hammer engaged upon the erection of new structures was everywhere heard. Great industries were moving in. The huge railroad corporations, which had long before recognized the prospects of the place, had seized upon vast tracks of land for transfer and shipping purposes. Street car lines had been extended far out into the open country in anticipation of rapid growth. The city had laid miles and miles of streets and sewers through regions where perhaps one solitary house stood out alone, a pioneer of the populace ways to be. There were regions open to the sweeping winds and rain which were yet lighted throughout the night with long blinking lines of gas lamps fluttering in the wind. Narrow boardwalks extended out, passing here a house and there a store, at far intervals, eventually ending on the open prairie. In the central portion was the vast wholesale and shopping district, to which the uninformed seeker for work usually drifted. It was a characteristic of Chicago then, and one not generally shared by other cities that individual firms of any pretension occupied the individual buildings. The presence of ample ground made this possible. It gave an imposing appearance to most of the wholesale houses, whose offices were upon the ground floor and in plain view of the street. The large plates of window glass now so common were then rapidly coming into use and gave the ground floor offices a distinguished and prosperous look. The casual wanderer could see as he passed a polished array of office fixtures, much frosted glass, clerks hard at work, and genteel businessmen in knobby suits and clean linen lounging about or sitting in groups. Polished brass or nickel signs at the square stone entrances announced the firm and the nature of the business in rather neat and reserved terms. The entire metropolitan center possessed a high and mighty air, calculated to overall and abash the common applicant, and to make the gulf between poverty and success seem both wide and deep. Into this important commercial region the timid carry went. She walked east along Van Buren Street through a region of lessening importance until it deteriorated into a mass of shanties and coal yards and finally verged upon the river. She walked bravely forward led by an honest desire to find employment and delayed at every step by the interest of the unfolding scene and a sense of helplessness amid so much evidence of power and force which she did not understand. These vast buildings, what were they? These strange energies and huge interests, for what purposes were they there? She could have understood the meaning of a little stonecutter's yard at Columbia City carving little pieces of marble for individual use, but when the yards of some huge stone corporation came into view filled with spur tracks and flat cars, transposed by docks from the river and traversed overhead by immense trundling cranes of wood and steel, it lost all significance in her little world. It was so with the vast railroad yards, with the crowded array of vessels she saw at the river and the huge factories over the way lining the water's edge. Through the open windows she could see the figures of men and women in working aprons, moving busily about. The great streets were wall lined mysteries to her. The vast offices, strange mazes, which concerned far-off individuals of importance. She could only think of people connected with them as counting money, dressing magnificently, and writing in carriages. What they dealt in, how they labored, to what ended all came, she had only the vaguest conception. It was all wonderful, all vast, all far removed, and she sank in spirit inwardly and fluttered feebly at the heart as she thought of entering any one of these mighty concerns and asking for something to do, something that she could do, anything. Once across the river and into the wholesale district, she glanced about her for some likely door at which to apply. As she contemplated the wide windows and imposing signs, she became conscious of being gazed upon and understood for what she was, a wage seeker. She had never done this thing before and lacked courage. To avoid a certain indefinable shame she felt at being caught spying about for a position, she quickened her steps and assumed an air of indifference supposedly common to one upon an errand. In this way she passed many manufacturing and wholesale houses without one's glancing in. At last, after several blocks of walking, she felt that this would not do, and began to look about again, though without relaxing her pace. A little way on she saw a great door which, for some reason, attracted her attention. It was ornamented by a small brass sign and seemed to be the entrance to a vast hive of six or seven floors. Perhaps, she thought, they may want some one, and crossed over to enter. When she came within a score of feet of the desired goal, she saw through the window a young man in a gray checked suit, that he had anything to do with the concern she could not tell, but because he happened to be looking in her direction, her weakening heart misgave her, and she hurried by, too overcome with shame to enter. Over the way stood a great six-story structure labeled Storm and King, which she viewed with rising hope. It was a wholesale dry goods concern and employed women. She could see them moving about now and then upon the upper floors. This place she decided to enter, no matter what. She crossed over and walked directly toward the entrance. As she did so, two men came out and paused in the door. A telegraph messenger in blue dashed past her and up the few steps that led to the entrance and disappeared. Several pedestrians out of the hurrying throng, which filled the sidewalks, passed about her as she paused, hesitating. She looked helplessly around, and then, seeing herself observed, retreated. It was too difficult a task. She could not go past them. So severe a defeat told sadly upon her nerves. Her feet carried her mechanically forward, every foot of her progress being a satisfactory portion of a flight which she gladly made, block after block passed by. Upon street lamps at the various corners, she read names such as Madison, Monroe, LaSalle, Clark, Dearburn, State, and she still went, her feet beginning to tire upon the broad stone flagging. She was pleased in part that the streets were bright and clean. The morning sun shining down with steadily increasing warmth made the shady side of the streets pleasantly cool. She looked at the blue sky overhead with more realization of its charm than had ever come to her before. Her cowardice began to trouble her in a way. She turned back, resolving to bunt up storm and king and enter. On the way she encountered a great wholesale shoe company. Through the broad plate windows of which she saw an enclosed executive department, hidden by frosted glass. Without this enclosure but just within the street entrance set a gray-haired gentleman at a small table, with a large open ledger before him. She walked by this institution several times, hesitating, but finding herself unobserved, faltered past the screen door and stood humbly waiting. Well, young lady, observed the old gentleman, looking at her somewhat kindly. What is it you wish? I am, that is, do you... I mean, do you need any help? She stammered. Not just at present, he answered, smiling. Not just at present. Come in sometime next week. Occasionally we need someone. She received the answer in silence and backed awkwardly out. The pleasant nature of her reception rather astonished her. She had expected that it would be more difficult, that something cold and harsh would be said. She knew not what. That she had not been put to shame, and made to feel her unfortunate position seemed remarkable. Somewhat encouraged she ventured into another large structure. It was a clothing company, and more people were in evidence. Well-dressed men of forty and more, surrounded by brass railings. An office boy approached her. Who is it you wish to see? he asked. I want to see the manager, she said. He ran away and spoke to one of a group of three men who were conferring together. One of these came towards her. Well, he said coldly. The greeting drove all courage from her at once. Do you need any help? she stammered. No, he replied abruptly and turned upon his heel. She went foolishly out, the office boy deferentially swinging the door for her, and gladly sank into the obscuring crowd. It was a severe setback to her recently pleased mental state. Now she walked quite aimlessly for a time, turning here and there, seeing one great company after another, but finding no courage to prosecute her single inquiry. High noon came, and with it hunger. She hunted out an unassuming restaurant and entered, but was disturbed to find that the prices were exorbitant for the size of her purse. A bowl of soup was all that she could afford, and, with this quickly eaten, she went out again. It restored her strength somewhat, and made her moderately bold to pursue the search. In walking a few blocks to fix upon some probable place, she again encountered the firm of Storm and King, and this time managed to get in. Some gentlemen were conferring close at hand, but took no notice of her. She was left standing, gazing nervously upon the floor. When the limit of her distress had been nearly reached, she was beckoned to by a man at one of the many desks within the nearby railing. "'Who is it you wish to see?' he inquired. "'Why, any one, if you please?' she answered. "'I am looking for something to do.' "'Oh, you want to see Mr. McManus?' he returned. "'Sit down.' And he pointed to a chair against the neighboring wall. He went on leisurely riding until, after a time, a short stout gentleman came in from the street. "'Mr. McManus,' called the man at the desk, "'this young woman wants to see you. The short gentleman turned about towards Kerry, and she arose and came forward. "'What can I do for you, Miss?' he inquired, surveying her curiously. "'I want to know if I can get a position,' she inquired. "'As what?' he asked. "'Not as anything in particular,' she faltered. "'Have you ever had any experience in the wholesale dry goods business?' he questioned. "'No, sir,' she replied. "'Are you a stenographer or typewriter?' "'No, sir.' "'Well, we haven't anything here,' he said. We employ only experienced help.' She began to step backward toward the door when something about her plain to face attracted him. "'Have you ever worked at anything before?' he inquired. "'No, sir,' she said. "'Well, now, it's hardly possible that you would get anything to do in a wholesale house of this kind. Have you tried the department stores?' She acknowledged that she had not. "'Well, if I were you,' he said, looking at her rather genially, I would try the department stores. They often need young women as clerks.' "'Thank you,' she said, her whole nature relieved by this spark of friendly interest. "'Yes,' he said, as she moved toward the door. "'You try the department stores,' and off he went.' At that time the department store was in its earliest form of successful operation, and there were not many. The first three in the United States established about 1884 were in Chicago. Carrie was familiar with the names of several through the advertisements in the daily news, and now proceeded to seek them. The words of Mr. McManus had somehow managed to restore her courage, which had fallen low, and she dared to hope that this new line would offer her something. Sometime she spent in wandering up and down, thinking to encounter the buildings by chance, so readily is the mind bent upon prosecuting a hard but needful errand, eased by that self-deception which the semblance of search without the reality gives. At last she inquired of a police officer, and was directed to proceed two blocks up, where she would find the fair. The nature of these vast retail combinations, should they ever permanently disappear, will form an interesting chapter in the commercial history of our nation. Such a flowering out of a modest trade principle the world had never witnessed up to that time. They were along the line of the most effective retail organization, with hundreds of stores coordinated into one, and laid out upon the most imposing and economic basis. They were handsome, bustling, successful affairs, with a host of clerks and a swarm of patrons. Carrie passed along the busy aisles, much affected by the remarkable displays of trinkets, dress goods, stationery, and jewelry. Each separate counter was a show place of dazzling interest and attraction. She could not help feeling the claim of each trinket invaluable upon her personally, and yet she did not stop. There was nothing there which she could not have used, nothing which she did not long to own. The dainty slippers and stockings, the delicately frilled skirts and petticoats, the laces, ribbons, haircombs, purses, all touched her with individual desire. And she felt keenly the fact that not any of these things were in the range of her purchase. She was a work-seeker, an outcast without employment, one whom the average employee could tell at a glance was poor and in need of a situation. It must not be thought that anyone could have mistaken her for a nervous, sensitive, high-strung nature cast unduly upon a cold calculating and unpoetic world. Such, certainly she was not, but women are peculiarly sensitive to their adornment. Not only did Carrie feel the drag of desire for all which was new and pleasing in apparel for women, but she noticed, too, with a touch at the heart, the fine ladies who elbowed and ignored her, brushing past an utter disregard of her presence, themselves eagerly enlisted in the materials which the store contained. Carrie was not familiar with the appearance of her more fortunate sisters of the city. Neither had she before known the nature and appearance of the shop girls with whom she now compared poorly. They were pretty in the main, some even handsome, with an air of independence and indifference, which added, in the case of the more favored, a certain pecancy. Their clothes were neat, in many instances fine, and wherever she encountered the eye of one it was only to recognize in it a keen analysis of her own position, her individual shortcomings of dress, and that shadow of manner which she thought must hang about her and make clear to all who and what she was. A flame of envy lighted in her heart. She realized in a dim way how much the city held, wealth, fashion, ease, every adornment for women, and she longed for dress and beauty with a whole heart. On the second floor were the managerial offices, to which, after some inquiry, she was now directed. There she found other girls ahead of her, applicants like herself, but with more of that self-satisfied and independent air which experience of the city lends. Girls who scrutinized her in a painful manner. After a wait of perhaps three-quarters of an hour, she was called in turn. Now, said a sharp quick mannered Jew, who was sitting at a roll-top desk near the window, have you worked in any other store? No, sir, said Carrie. Oh, you haven't, he said, eyeing her keenly. No, sir, she replied. Well, we prefer young women just now with some experience. I guess we can't use you. Carrie stood waiting a moment, hardly certain whether the interview had terminated. Don't wait, he exclaimed. Remember, we are very busy here. Carrie began to move quickly to the door. Hold on, he said, calling her back. Give me your name and address. We want girls occasionally. When she had gotten safely into the street, she could scarcely restrain the tears. It was not so much the particular rebuff which she had just experienced, but the whole abashing trend of the day. She was tired and nervous. She abandoned the thought of appealing to the other department stores and now wandered on, feeling a certain safety and relief in mingling with the crowd. In her indifferent wandering, she turned into Jackson Street, not far from the river, and was keeping her way along the south side of that imposing thoroughfare, when a piece of wrapping paper written on with marking ink and tacked up on the door attracted her attention. It read, Girls Wanted, Rappers and Stitchers. She hesitated a moment, then entered. The firm of Spiegelheim and Company, makers of boys' caps, occupied one floor of the building, fifty feet in width and some eighty feet in depth. It was a place rather dingily lighted, the darkest portions having incandescent lights, filled with machines and work benches. At the latter labored quite a company of girls and some men. The former were drabby-looking creatures, stained in face with oil and dust, clad in thin shapeless cotton dresses and shod with more or less worn shoes. Many of them had their sleeves rolled up, revealing bare arms, and in some cases, owing to the heat, their dresses were open at the neck. They were a fair type of nearly the lowest order of shop girls, careless, slouchy, and more or less pale from confinement. They were not timid, however, were rich in curiosity and strong in daring and slang. Carrie looked about her, very much disturbed and quite sure that she did not want to work here. Aside from making her uncomfortable by side-long glances, no one paid her the least attention. She waited until the whole department was aware of her presence. Then some word was sent around, and a foreman, in an apron and shirt-sleeves, the latter rolled up to his shoulders, approached. "'Do you want to see me?' he asked. "'Do you need any help?' said Carrie, already learning directness of address. "'Do you know how to stitch caps?' he returned. "'No, sir,' she replied. "'Have you ever had any experience at this kind of work?' he inquired. She answered that she had not. "'Well,' said the foreman, scratching his ear meditatively, "'we do need a stitcher. We like experienced help, though. We've hardly got time to break people in.' He paused and looked away out of the window. "'We might, though, put you at finishing,' he concluded reflectively. "'How much do you pay a week?' ventured Carrie, emboldened by a certain softness in the man's manner and his simplicity of address. "'Three and a half?' he answered. "'Oh,' she was about to exclaim, but checked herself and allowed her thoughts to die without expression. "'We're not exactly in need of anybody,' he went on vaguely, looking her over as one would a package. "'You can come on Monday morning, though,' he added, and I'll put you to work. "'Thank you,' said Carrie weakly. "'If you come, bring an apron,' he added. He walked away and left her standing by the elevator, never so much as inquiring her name. "'Well, the appearance of the shop and the announcement of the price paid per week operated very much as a blow to Carrie's fancy. The fact that work of any kind was offered after so rude a round of experience was gratifying. She could not begin to believe that she would take the place, modest as her aspirations were. She had been used to better than that. Her mere experience in the free, out-of-door life of the country caused her nature to revolt at such confinement. Dirt had never been her share. Her sister's flat was clean. This place was grimy and low. The girls were careless and hardened. They must be bad-minded and hard-ed, she imagined. Still, a place had been offered her. Surely Chicago was not so bad if she could find one place in one day. She might find another and better later. Her subsequent experiences were not of a reassuring nature, however. From all the more pleasing or imposing places she was turned away, abruptly, with the most chilling formality. In others where she applied, only the experience were required. She met with painful rebuffs, the most trying of which had been in a manufacturing cloak-house, where she had gone to the fourth floor to inquire. No, no, said the foreman, a rough, heavily built individual who looked after a miserably lighted workshop. We don't want anyone, don't come here. With the wane of the afternoon went her hopes, her courage, and her strength. She had been astonishingly persistent, so earnest an effort was well deserving of a better reward. On every hand, to her fatigue senses, the great business portion grew larger, harder, more stolid in its indifference. It seemed as if it was all closed to her, that the struggle was too fierce for her to hope to do anything at all. Men and women hurried by in long shifting lines. She felt the flow of the tide of effort and interest, felt her own helplessness without quite realizing the wisp on the tide that she was. She cast about vainly for some possible place to apply, but found no door which she had the courage to enter. It would be the same thing all over, the old humiliation of her plea, rewarded by curt denial. Sick at heart and in body, she turned to the west, the direction of many's flat, which she had now fixed in mind, and began that weary some baffled retreat which the seeker for employment at nightfall too often makes. In passing through Fifth Avenue, south towards Van Buren Street, where she intended to take a car, she passed the door of a large wholesale shoe house, through the plate glass window of which she could see a middle-aged gentleman sitting at a small desk, one of those forlorn impulses which often grow out of a fixed sense of defeat, the last sprouting of a baffled and uprooted growth of ideas seized upon her. She walked deliberately through the door and up to the gentleman, who looked at her weary face with partially awakened interest. What is it? he said. Can you give me something to do? said Carrie. Now I really don't know, he said kindly. What kind of work is it you want? You're not a typewriter, are you? Oh no, answered Carrie. Well, we only employ bookkeepers and typewriters here. You might go around to the side and inquire upstairs. They did want some help upstairs a few days ago. Ask for Mr. Brown. She hastened around to the side entrance, and was taken up by the elevator to the fourth floor. Call Mr. Brown, Willie, said the elevator man to a boy nearby. Willie went off and presently returned with the information that Mr. Brown said she should sit down and that he would be around in a little while. It was a portion of the stock room which gave no idea of the general character of the place, and Carrie could form no opinion of the nature of the work. So you want something to do, said Mr. Brown, after he inquired concerning the nature of her errand. Have you ever been employed in a shoe factory before? No, sir, said Carrie. What is your name, he inquired, and being informed. Well, I don't know as I have anything for you. Would you work for four and a half a week? Carrie was too worn by defeat not to feel that it was considerable. She had not expected that he would offer her less than six. She acquiesced, however, and he took her name and address. Well, he said, finally, you report here at eight o'clock Monday morning. I think I can find something for you to do. He left her revived by the possibilities, sure that she had found something at last. Instantly the blood crept warmly over her body, her nervous tension relaxed. She walked out into the busy street and discovered a new atmosphere. Behold, the throng was moving with a lightsome step. She noticed that men and women were smiling, scraps of conversation and notes of laughter floated to her. The air was light. People were already pouring out of the buildings, their labor ended for the day. She noticed that they were pleased, and thoughts of her sister's home and the meal that would be awaiting her quickened her steps. She hurried on, tired perhaps, but no longer weary of foot. What would not many say? Ah, the long winter in Chicago, the lights, the crowd, the amusement. This was a great pleasing metropolis after all. Her new firm was a goodly institution. Its windows were of huge plate glass. She could probably do well there. Thoughts of Droha returned, of the things he had told her. She now felt that life was better, that it was livelier, sprightlier. She boarded a car in the best of spirits, feeling her blood still flowing pleasantly. She would live in Chicago, her mind kept saying to itself. She would have a better time than she had ever had before. She would be happy. For the next two days, Carrie indulged in the most high-flown speculations. Her fancy plunged recklessly into privileges and amusements, which would have been much more of a coming had she been cradled a child of fortune. With ready will and quick mental selection, she scattered her meager four fifty per week, with a swift and graceful hand. Indeed, as she sat in her rocking chair these several evenings before going to bed, and looked out upon the pleasantly lighted street, this money cleared for its prospective possessor the way to every joy and every bobble which the heart of woman may desire. I will have a fine time, she thought. Her sister Minnie knew nothing of these rather wild cerebrations, though they exhausted the markets of delight. She was too busy scrubbing the kitchen woodwork and calculating the purchasing power of eighty cents for Sunday's dinner. When Carrie had returned home, flushed with her first success and ready for all her weariness, to discuss the now interesting events which led up to her achievement, the former had merely smiled approvingly and inquired whether she would have to spend any of it for car fare. This consideration had not entered in before, and it did not now for long affect the glow of Carrie's enthusiasm. Disposed, as she then was, to calculate upon that vague basis which allows the subtraction of one sum from another, without any perceptible diminution, she was happy. When Hanson came home at seven o'clock, he was inclined to be a little crusty, his usual demeanor before supper. This never showed so much in anything he said, as in a certain solemnity of countenance, and the silent manner in which he slopped about. He had a pair of yellow carpet slippers which he enjoyed wearing, and these he would immediately substitute for his solid pair of shoes. This, and washing his face with the aid of common washing soap until a glowed, a shiny red, constituted his only preparation for his evening meal. He would then get his evening paper and read in silence. For young man, this was rather a morbid turn of character, and so affected Carrie. Indeed, it affected the entire atmosphere of the flat, as such things are inclined to do, and gave to his wife's mind its subdued and tactful turn, anxious to avoid taciturn replies. Under the influence of Carrie's announcement, he brightened up somewhat. You didn't lose any time, did you? he remarked, smiling a little. No, returned Carrie with a touch of pride. He asked her one or two more questions, and then turned to play with the baby, leaving the subject until it was brought up again by Minnie at the table. Carrie, however, was not to be reduced to the common level of observation which prevailed in the flat. It seems to be such a large company, she said at one place, great big plate-glass windows and lots of clerks. The man I saw said they hired ever so many people. It's not very hard to get work now, put in Hanson, if you look right. Minnie, under the warming influence of Carrie's good spirits and her husband's somewhat conversational mood, began to tell Carrie of some of the well-known things to see, things the enjoyment of which cost nothing. You'd like to see Michigan Avenue. There are such fine houses. It is such a fine street. Where is H.R. Jacobs? interrupted Carrie, mentioning one of the theatres devoted to melodrama which went by that name at the time. Oh, it's not very far from here, answered Minnie. It's in Halsted Street, right up here. How I'd like to go there! I crossed Halsted Street today, didn't I? At this there was a slight halt in the natural reply. Thoughts are a strangely permeating factor. At her suggestion of going to the theatre, the unspoken shade of disapproval to the doings of those things which involved the expenditure of money, shades of feeling which arose in the mind of Hanson, and then in Minnie, slightly affected the atmosphere of the table. Minnie answered, yes, but Carrie could feel that going to the theatre was poorly advocated here. The subject was put off for a little while until Hanson, threw with his meal, took his paper, and went into the front room. When they were alone, the two sisters began a somewhat freer conversation, Carrie interrupting it to hum a little as they worked at the dishes. I should like to walk up and see Halsted Street if it isn't too far, said Carrie after a time. Why don't we go to the theatre tonight? Oh, I don't think Sven would want to go to-night, returned Minnie. He has to get up so early. He wouldn't mind. He'd enjoy it, said Carrie. No, he doesn't go very often, returned Minnie. Well, I'd like to go, rejoined Carrie. Let's you and me go. Minnie pondered a while, not upon whether she could or would go, for that point was already negatively settled with her, but upon some means of diverting the thoughts of her sister to some other topic. We'll go some other time, she said at last, finding no ready means of escape. Carrie sensed the root of the opposition at once. I have some money, she said. You go with me. Minnie shook her head. He could go along, said Carrie. No, returned Minnie softly and rattling the dishes to drown the conversation. He wouldn't. It had been several years since Minnie had seen Carrie, and in that time the latter's character had developed a few shades. Naturally timid in all things that related to her own advancement, and especially so when without power or resource, her craving for pleasure was so strong that it was the one stay of her nature. She would speak for that when silent on all else. Ask him, she pleaded softly. Minnie was thinking of the resource, which Carrie's board would add. It would pay the rent, and would make the subject of expenditure a little less difficult to talk about with their husband. But if Carrie was going to think of running around in the beginning, there would be a hitch somewhere. Unless Carrie submitted to a solemn round of industry, and saw the need of hard work without longing for play, how was her coming to the city to profit them? These thoughts were not those of a cold, hard nature at all. They were the serious reflections of a mind which invariably adjusted itself without much complaining to such surroundings as its industry could make for it. At last she yielded enough to ask Hanson. It was a half-hearted procedure without a shade of desire on her part. Carrie wants us to go to the theatre, she said, looking in upon her husband. Hanson looked up from his paper and they exchanged a mild look, which said as plainly as anything this isn't what we expected. I don't care to go, he returned. What does she want to see? H.R. Jacobs, said Minnie. He looked down at his paper and shook his head negatively. When Carrie saw how they looked upon her proposition, she gained a still clear feeling of their way of life. It weighed on her, but took no definite form of opposition. I think I'll go down and stand at the foot of the stairs, she said after a time. Minnie made no objection to this and Carrie put on her hat and went below. Where has Carrie gone? asked Hanson, coming back into the dining room when he heard the door close. She said she was going down to the foot of the stairs, answered Minnie. I guess she just wants to look out a while. She oughtn't be thinking about spending her money on theatres already, do you think? He said. She just feels a little curious, I guess, ventured Minnie. Everything is so new. I don't know, said Hanson and went over to the baby, his forehead slightly wrinkled. He was thinking of a full career of vanity and wastefulness which a young girl might indulge in and wondering how Carrie could contemplate such a course when she had so little, as yet, with which to do. On Saturday Carrie went out by herself, first toward the river, which interested her, and then back along Jackson Street, which was then lined by the pretty houses and fine lawns, which subsequently caused it to be made into a boulevard. She was struck with the evidences of wealth, although there was perhaps not a person on the street worth more than a hundred thousand dollars. She was glad to be out of the flat, because already she felt that it was a narrow, humdrum place, and that interest and joy lay elsewhere. Her thoughts now were of a more liberal character, and she punctuated them with speculations as to the whereabouts of Druah. She was not sure but that he might call anyhow, Monday night, and while she felt a little disturbed at the possibility, there was nevertheless just the shade of a wish that he would. On Monday she rose early and prepared to go to work. She dressed herself in a worn shirt waist of dotted blue percale, a skirt of light brown surge, rather faded, and a small straw hat which she had worn all summer at Columbia City. Her shoes were old, and her necktie was in that crumpled, flattened state, which time and much-wearing in part. She made a very average-looking shop girl with the exception of her features. These were slightly more even than common, and gave her a sweet, reserved, and pleasing appearance. It is no easy thing to get up early in the morning when one is used to sleeping until seven and eight, as Carrie had been at home. She gained some inkling of the character of Hanson's life when, half asleep, she looked out into the dining-room at six o'clock, and saw him silently finishing his breakfast. By the time she was dressed he was gone, and she, Mini, and the baby ate together, the latter being just old enough to sit in a high chair and disturb the dishes with a spoon. Her spirits were greatly subdued now when the fact of entering upon strange and untried duties confronted her. Only the ashes of all her fine fancies were remaining. Ashes still concealing, nevertheless, a few red embers of hope. So subdued was she by her weakening nerves that she ate quite in silence, going over imaginary conceptions of the character of the shoe company, the nature of the work, her employer's attitude. She was vaguely feeling that she would come in contact with the great owners, that her work would be where grave, stylishly dressed men occasionally look on. Well, good luck, said Mini when she was ready to go. They had agreed it was best to walk, that morning, at least, to see if she could do it every day, sixty cents a week for car fare, being quite an item under the circumstances. I'll tell you how it goes tonight, said Carrie. Once in the sunlit street with labors tramping by in either direction, the horse-cars passing crowded to the rails with the small clerks and floor help in the great wholesale houses, and men and women generally coming out of doors and passing about the neighborhood, Carrie felt slightly reassured. In the sunshine of the morning beneath the wide blue heavens, with a fresh wind to stir, what fears except the most desperate can find a harborage. In the night or the gloomy chambers of the day, fears and misgivings wax strong, but out in the sunlight there is, for a time, cessation even of the terror of death. Carrie went straight forward until she crossed the river and then turned into Fifth Avenue. The thoroughfare in this part was like a walled cannon of brown stone in dark red brick. The big windows looked shiny and clean. Trucks were rumbling in an increasing number. Men and women, girls and boys were moving onward in all directions. She met girls of her own age, who looked at her as if with contempt for her diffidence. She wondered at the magnitude of this life, and at the importance of knowing much, in order to do anything in it at all. Dread at her own inefficiency crept upon her. She would not know how, she would not be quick enough, had not all the other places refused her because she did not know something or other. She would be scolded, abused, ignominiously discharged. It was with weak knees and a slight catch in her breathing that she came up to the Great Shoe Company at Adams and Fifth Avenue and entered the elevator. When she stepped out on the fourth floor, there was no one at hand, only Great Isle's boxes piled to the ceiling. She stood, very much frightened, awaiting someone. Presently Mr. Brown came up, he did not seem to recognize her. What is it you want? he inquired. Carrie's heart sank. You said I should come this morning to see about work. Oh! he interrupted. Yes, what is your name? Carrie Meiber? Yes, said he. You come with me. He led the way through dark, box-lined aisles which had the smell of new shoes until they came to an iron door which opened into the factory proper. There was a large, low-sealed room with clacking, rattling machines at which men in white shirt sleeves and blue gingham aprons were working. She followed him diffidently through the clattering atomatons, keeping her eyes straight before her and flushing slightly. They crossed to a far corner and took an elevator to the sixth floor. Out of the array of machines and benches Mr. Brown signaled a foreman. This is the girl, he said, and turning to Carrie. You, go with him. He then returned, and Carrie followed her new superior to a little desk in a corner which he used as a kind of official center. You've never worked at anything like this before, have you? he questioned rather sternly. No, sir, she answered. He seemed rather annoyed at having to bother with such help, but put down her name and then led her across to where a line of girls occupied stools in front of clacking machines. On the shoulder of one of the girls who was punching eye holes in one piece of the upper by the aid of the machine, he put his hand. You, he said, show this girl how to do what you're doing. When you get through, come to me. The girl so addressed rose promptly and gave Carrie her place. It isn't hard to do, she said, bending over. You just take this sew, fasten it with this clamp, and start the machine. She suited action to word, fastened the piece of leather which was eventually to form the right half of the upper of a man's shoe by little adjustable clamps and pushed a small steel rod at the side of the machine. The latter jumped to the task of punching with sharp snapping clicks, cutting circular bits of leather out of the side of the upper, leaving the holes which were to hold the laces. After observing a few times, the girl let her work at it alone. Seeing that it was fairly well done, she went away. The pieces of leather came from the girl at the machine to her right and were passed on to the girl at her left. Carrie saw it once that an average speed was necessary or the work would pile up on her and all those below would be delayed. She had no time to look about and bent anxiously to her task. The girls that are left and right realized her predicament and feelings, and in a way tried to aid her as much as they dared by working slower. At this task she labored incessantly for some time, finding relief from her own nervous fears and imaginings in the humdrum mechanical movement of the machine. She felt, as the minutes passed, that the room was not very light. It had a thick odor of fresh leather, but that did not worry her. She felt the eyes of the other help upon her and troubled, lest she was not working fast enough. Once, when she was fumbling at the little clamp, having made a slight error in setting in the leather, a great hand appeared before her eyes and fastened the clamp for her. It was the foreman. Her heart thumped so that she could scarcely see to go on. Start your machine. He said, Start your machine. Don't keep the line waiting. This recovered her sufficiently, and she went excitedly on, hardly breathing until the shadow moved away from behind her. Then she heaved a great breath. As the morning wore on, the room became hotter. She felt the need of a breath of fresh air and a drink of water, but did not venture to stir. The stool she sat on was without a back or foot rest, and she began to feel uncomfortable. She found, after a time, that her back was beginning to ache. She twisted and turned from one position to another, slightly different, but it did not case her for long. She was beginning to weary. Stand up, why don't you? said the girl at her right without any form of introduction. They won't care. Carrie looked at her gratefully. I guess I will, she said. She stood up from her stool and worked that way for a while, but it was a more difficult position. Her neck and shoulders ached and bending over. The spirit of the place impressed itself on her in a rough way. She did not venture to look around, but above the clack of the machine she could hear an occasional remark. She could also note a thing or two out of the side of her eye. Did you see Harry last night? said the girl at her left addressing her neighbor. No. You ought to have seen the tie he had on. Gee, but he was a mark. Said the other girl bending over her work. The first, silenced, instantly assumed a solemn face. The foreman passed slowly along, eyeing each worker distinctly. The moment he was gone the conversation was resumed again. Say, again the girl at her left, what you think he said? I don't know. He said he saw us with Eddie Harris at Martin's last night. No. They both giggled. A youth with tan-colored hair that needed clipping very badly came shuffling along between the machines, bearing a basket of leather findings under his left arm and pressed against his stomach. When near Carrie he stretched at his right hand and gripped one girl under the arm. Ah, let me go, she exclaimed angrily, duffer. He only grinned broadly in return. Rubber, he called back as she looked after him, there was nothing of the gallant in him. Carrie at last could scarcely sit still. Her legs began to tire and she wanted to get up and stretch. Would new never come? It seemed as if she had worked an entire day. She was not hungry at all, but weak, and her eyes were tired, straining at the one point where the eye-punch came down. The girl at the right noticed her squirmings and felt sorry for her. She was concentrating herself too thoroughly. What she did really required less mental and physical strain. There was nothing to be done, however. The halves of the uppers came piling steadily down. Her hands began to ache at the wrists, and then in the fingers and towards the last she seemed one mass of dull, complaining muscles, fixed in an internal position and performing a single mechanical movement which became more and more distasteful, until at last it was absolutely nauseating. When she was wondering whether the strain would ever cease, a dull sounding bell clanged somewhere down an elevator shaft, and the end came. In an instant there was a buzz of action and conversation. All the girls instantly left their stools and hurried away in an adjoining room. Men passed through, coming from some department which opened on the right. The whirling wheels began to sing in a steadily modifying key, until at last they died away in a low buzz. There was an audible stillness in which the common voice sounded strange. Carrie got up and sought her lunchbox. She was stiff, a little dizzy, and very thirsty. On the way to the small space portioned off by wood where all the wraps and lunches were kept, she encountered the foreman who stared at her hard. Well, he said, did you get along all right? I think so, she replied very respectfully. Huh, he replied for want of something better and walked on. Under better material conditions this kind of work would not have been so bad, but the new socialism which involves pleasant working conditions for employees had not then taken hold upon manufacturing companies. The place smelled of the oil of the machines and the new leather, a combination which added to the stale odours of the building, was not pleasant even in cold weather. The floor, though regularly swept every evening, presented a littered surface. Not the slightest provision had been made for the comfort of the employees, the idea being that something was gained by giving them as little, and making the work as hard and unremunerative as possible. What we know of foot rests, swivelback chairs, dining rooms for the girls, clean aprons and curling irons supplied free, and a decent cloakroom were unthought of. The washrooms were disagreeable, crude if not foul places, and the whole atmosphere was sordid. Carrie looked about her after she had drunk a tin full of water from a bucket in one corner for a place to sit and eat. The other girls had ranged themselves about the windows of the workbenches of those of the men who had gone out. She saw no place which did not hold a couple or a group of girls, and being too timid to think of intruding herself, she sought out her machine, and seated upon her stool opened her lunch on her lap. There she sat listening to the chatter and comment about her. It was, for the most part, silly and graced by the current slang. Several of the men in the room exchanged compliments with the girls at long range. Say, Kitty, called one to a girl who was doing a waltz step in a few feet of space near one of the windows. Are you going to the ball with me? Look out, Kitty, called another. You'll jar your back hair. Go on, rubber, was her only comment. As Carrie listened to this, and much more of similar familiar badanage among the men and girls, she instinctively withdrew into herself. She was not used to this type, and felt that there was something hard and low about it all. She feared that the young boys about would address such remarks to her. Boys who, beside Druah, seemed uncouth and ridiculous. She made the average feminine distinction between clothes, putting worth, goodness, and distinction in a dress suit, and leaving all the unlovely qualities in those beneath notice in overalls and jumper. She was glad when the short half-hour was over and the wheels began to whir again, though weird she would be inconspicuous. This illusion ended when another young man passed along the aisle and poked her indifferently in the ribs with his thumb. She turned about, indignation leaping to her eyes, but he had gone on, and only once turned to grin. She found it difficult to conquer an inclination to cry. The girl next to her noticed her state of mind. Don't you mind? She said he's too fresh. Carrie said nothing but bent over her work. She felt as though she could hardly endure such a life. Her idea of work had been so entirely different. All during the long afternoon she thought of the city outside and its imposing show, crowds, and fine buildings. Columbia City and the better side of her home life came back. By three o'clock she was sure it must be six, and by four it seemed as if they had forgotten to note the hour, and were letting all work overtime. The foreman became a true ogre, prowling constantly about, keeping her tied down to her miserable task. What she heard of the conversation about her only made her feel sure she did not want to make friends with any of these. When six o'clock came, she hurried eagerly away, her arms aching and her limbs stiff from sitting in one position. As she passed out along the hall after getting her hat, a young machine-hand, attracted by her looks, made bold to jest with her. Say, Maggie, he called, if you wait I'll walk with you. It was thrown so straight in her direction that she knew who was meant, but never turned to look. In the crowded elevator another dusty, toil-stained youth tried to make an impression on her by leering in her face. One young man, waiting on the walk outside for the appearance of another, grinned at her as she passed. Ain't going my way, are you? he called jacosely. Carrie turned her face to the west with a subdued heart, as she turned the corner she saw through the great shiny window the small desk at which she had applied. There were the crowds hurring with the same buzz and energy yielding enthusiasm. She felt a slight relief, but it was only at her escape. She felt ashamed in the face of better-dressed girls who went by. She felt as though she should be better served, and her heart revolted. End of Chapter 4. Chapter 5 of Sister Carrie. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Sheila Morton. Sister Carrie by Theodore Dreiser. Chapter 5. A Glittering Night Flower. The Use of a Name. Dreway did not call that evening. After receiving the letter, he had laid aside all thought of Carrie for the time being, and was floating around having what he considered a gay time. On this particular evening he dined at Rectors, a restaurant of some local fame, which occupied a basement of Clark and Monroe Streets. Thereafter he visited the resort of Fitzgerald and Moyes in Adams Street, opposite the imposing Federal Building. There he leaned over the splendid bar and swallowed a glass of plain whiskey and purchased a couple of cigars, one of which he lighted. This to him represented in part, High Life, a fair sample of what the whole must be. Dreway was not a drinker in excess. He was not a moneyed man. He only craved the best, as his mind conceived it, and such doings seemed to him a part of the best. Rectors, with its polished marble walls and floor, its profusion of lights, its show of china and silverware, and, above all, its reputation as a resort for actors and professional men, seemed to him the proper place for a successful man to go. He loved fine clothes, good eating, and particularly the company and acquaintanceship of successful men. When dining it was a source of keen satisfaction to him to know that Joseph Jefferson was want to come to this same place, or that Henry E. Dixie, a well-known performer of the day, was then only a few tables off. At Rectors he could always obtain this satisfaction, for there one could encounter politicians, brokers, actors, some rich young rounders of the town, all eating and drinking amid a buzz of popular commonplace conversation. That so-and-so over there was a common remark of these gentlemen among themselves, particularly among those who had not yet reached, but hoped to do so, the dazzling height which money to dine here lavishly represented. You don't say so, would be the reply. Why, yes, didn't you know that? Why, he's manager of the Grand Opera House. When these things would fall upon Druay's ears, he would straighten himself a little more stiffly and eat with solid comfort. If he had any vanity, this augmented it, and if he had any ambition, this stirred it. He would be able to flash a roll of greenbacks too some day. As it was, he could eat where they did. His preference for Fitzgerald and Moy's Adam Street Place was another yard off the same cloth. This was really a gorgeous salon from a Chicago standpoint. Like Rectors, it was also ornamented with a blaze of incandescent lights held in handsome chandeliers. The floors were of brightly colored tiles, the walls a composition of rich, dark, polished wood, rich reflected the light and colored stucco work, which gave the place a very sumptuous appearance. The long bar was a blaze of lights, polished woodwork, colored and cut glassware, and many fancy bottles. It was a truly swell salon, with rich screens, fancy wines, and a line of bar goods unsurpassed in the country. At Rectors, Druay had met Mr. G. W. Hurstwood, manager of Fitzgerald and Moy's. He had been pointed out as a very successful and well-known man about town. Hurstwood looked the part, for, besides being slightly under forty, he had a good stout constitution, an active manner, and a solid substantial air, which was composed in part of his fine clothes, his clean linen, his jewels and above all, his own sense of his importance. Druay immediately conceived a notion of him as being someone worth knowing, and was glad not only to meet him, but to visit the Adam Street Bar thereafter whenever he wanted a drink or a cigar. Hurstwood was an interesting character after his kind. He was shrewd and clever in many little things, and capable of creating a good impression. His managerial position was fairly important, a kind of stewardship which was imposing but lacked financial control. He had risen by perseverance in industry through long years of service, from the position of a barkeeper in a common-place saloon to his present altitude. He had a little office in the place, set off in polished cherry and grill work, where he kept in a roll-top desk the rather simple accounts of the place, supplies ordered and needed. The chief executive in financial functions devolved upon the owners, M. Fitzgerald and Moy, and upon a cashier who looked after the money taken in. For the most part he lounged about, dressed in excellent tailored suits of imported goods, a solitaire ring, a fine blue diamond in his tie, a striking vest of some new pattern, and a watch chain of solid gold, which held a charm of rich design, and a watch of the latest make-and-engraving. He knew by name and could greet personally with a well-old fellow, hundreds of actors, merchants, politicians, and the general run of successful characters about town, and it was part of his success to do so. He had a finely graduated scale of informality and friendship which improved from the how-do-you-do address to the fifteen dollar-a-week clerks and office attachés, who by long frequenting of the place became aware of his position, to the why old man how are you, which he addressed to those noted or rich individuals who knew him and were inclined to be friendly. There was a class, however, too rich, too famous, or too successful, with whom he could not attempt any familiarity of address, and with these he was professionally tactful, assuming a grave and dignified attitude, paying them the deference which would win their good feeling without in the least compromising his own bearing and opinions. There were in the last place a few good followers, neither rich nor poor, famous nor yet remarkably successful, with whom he was friendly on the score of good fellowship. These were the kind of men with whom he would converse longest and most seriously. He loved to go out and have a good time once in a while, to go to the races, the theatres, the sporting entertainments at some of the clubs. He kept a horse and neat trap, had his wife and two children who were well established in a neat house on the north side near Lincoln Park, and was altogether a very acceptable individual of our great American upper class, the first grade below the luxuriously rich. Hurst would like to drui. The latter's genial nature and dressy appearance pleased him. He knew that drui was only a travelling salesman, and not one of many years at that, but the firm of Barclay Cario and Company was a large and prosperous house, and drui stood well. Hurst would knew Cario quite well, having drunk a glass now and then with him and company with several others, when the conversation was general. Drui had what was a help in his business, a moderate sense of humour, and could tell a good story when the occasion required. He could talk races with Hurst would, tell interesting incidents concerning himself and his experiences with women, and report the state of trade in the cities which he visited, and so manage to make himself almost invariably agreeable. Tonight he was particularly so, since his report to the company had been favourably commented upon, his new samples had been satisfactorily selected, and his trip marked out for the next six weeks. Why, hello, Charlie old man, said Hurst would as drui came in that evening about eight o'clock. How goes it? The room was crowded. Drui shook hands, beaming good nature, and they strolled towards the bar. Oh, all right. I haven't seen you in six weeks. When did you get in? Friday, said Drui, had a fine trip. Glad of it, said Hurst would, his black eyes lit with a warmth which half displaced the cold make-believe that usually dwelt in them. What are you going to take? He added as the barkeeper in snowy jacket and tie, leaned toward them from behind the bar. Old pepper, said Drui. A little of the same for me, put in Hurst would. How long are you in town this time? inquired Hurst would. Only until Wednesday I'm going up to St. Paul. George Evans was in here Saturday, and said he saw you in Milwaukee last week. Yes, I saw George, returned Drui. Great old boy, isn't he? We had quite a time there together. The barkeeper was setting out the glasses and bottle before them, and they now poured out the drought as they talked, Drui filling his two within a third of full, as was considered proper, and Hurst would taking the barest suggestion of whiskey and modifying it with seltzer. What's become of Kerrio? remarked Hurst would. I haven't seen him around here in two weeks. Laid up, they say, exclaimed Drui. Say, he's a gaudy old boy. Made a lot of money in his time though, hasn't he? Yes, wads of it, returned Drui. He won't live much longer. Barely comes down to the office now. Just one boy, hasn't he? asked Hurst would. Yes, and a swift baser laughed Drui. I guess he can't hurt the business very much, though, with the other members all there. No, he can't injure that any, I guess. Hurst would was standing, his coat open, his thumbs in his pocket, the light on his jewels and rings relieving them with agreeable distinctness. He was the picture of fastidious comfort. To one not inclined to drink and gifted with a more serious turn of mind, such a bubbling, chattering, glittering chamber must ever seem an anomaly, a strange commentary on nature and life. Here come the moths in endless procession to bask in the light of the flame. Such conversation, as one may hear, would not warrant a commendation of the scene upon intellectual grounds. It seems plain that schemers would choose more sequestered quarters to arrange their plans, that politicians would not gather here in company to discuss anything safe formalities where the sharp-eared may hear, and it would scarcely be justified on the score of Thurst, where the majority of those who frequented these more gorgeous places have no craving for liquor. Nevertheless, the fact that here men gather, here chatter, here love to pass and rub the elbows must be explained upon some grounds. It must be that a strange bundle of passions and vague desires give rise to such a curious social institution, or it would not be. Druway, for one, was lured as much by his longing for pleasure as by his desire to shine among his bedders. The many friends he met here dropped in because they craved, without perhaps consciously analyzing it, the company, the glow, the atmosphere which they found. One might take it, after all, as an augur of the better social order, for the things which they satisfied here, though sensory, were not evil. No evil could come out of the contemplation of an expensively decorated chamber. The worst effect of such a thing would be, perhaps, to stir up in the material-minded an ambition to arrange their lives upon a similarly splendid basis. In the last analysis that would scarcely be called the fault of the decorations, but rather of the innate trend of the mind. The such a scene might stir the less expensively dressed to emulate the more expensively dressed, could scarcely be laid at the door of anything to save the false ambition of the minds of those so affected. Remove the element so thoroughly and solely complained of, liquor, and there would not be one to gain, say, the qualities of beauty and enthusiasm which would remain. The pleased eye with which our modern restaurants of fashion are looked upon is proof of this assertion. Yet here is the fact of the lighted chamber, the dressy, greedy company, the small, self-interested paliver, the disorganized, aimless, wandering mental action which it represents, the love of light and show and finery which, to one outside, under the serene light of the eternal stars, must seem a strange and shiny thing. Under the stars and sweeping night winds, what a lamp-flower it must bloom! A strange, glittering night-flower, odor-yielding, insect-drawing, insect-infested rose of pleasure. See that fellow coming in there? said Hurstwood, glancing at a gentleman just entering, a raid in a high hat and Prince Albert coat, his fat cheeks puffed in red as with good eating. No, where? said Dreway. There! said Hurstwood, indicating the direction by a cast of his eye, the man with the silk hat. Oh, yes! said Dreway, now affecting not to see. Who is he? That's Jules Wallace, the spiritualist. Dreway followed him with his eyes, much interested. Doesn't look much like a man who sees spirits, does he? said Dreway. Oh, I don't know, returned Hurstwood, he's got the money all right, and a little twinkle passed over his eyes. I don't go much on those things, do you? asked Dreway. Well, you never can tell, said Hurstwood. There may be something to it. I wouldn't bother about it myself, though. By the way, he added, are you going anywhere tonight? The hole in the ground, said Dreway, mentioning the popular farce at the time. Well, you'd better be going, it's half after eight already, and he drew out his watch. The crowd was already thinning out considerably, some bound for the theaters, some to their clubs, and some to that most fascinating of all the pleasures, for the type of man there represented, at least, the ladies. Yes, I will, said Dreway. Come around after the show, I have something I want to show you, said Hurstwood. Sure, said Dreway, elated. You haven't anything on hand for the night, have you? added Hurstwood. Not a thing. Well, come round, then. I struck a little peach coming in on the train Friday, remarked Dreway by way of parting. By George, that's so. I must go and call on her before I go away. Oh, never mind her, Hurstwood remarked. Say, she was a little dandy, I tell you, went on Dreway confidentially and trying to impress his friend. Twelve o'clock, said Hurstwood. That's right, said Dreway going out. Thus was Carey's name bandied about in the most frivolous and gay of places, and that also when the little toiler was bemoaning her narrow lot, which was almost inseparable from the early stages of this, her unfolding fate. End of Chapter 5 Chapter 6 of Sister Carey This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. At the flat that evening, Carey felt a new phase of its atmosphere. The fact that it was unchanged while her feelings were different increased her knowledge of its character. Many, after the good spirits Carey manifested at first, expected a fair report. Hanson supposed that Carey would be satisfied. Well, he said as he came in from the hall in his working clothes, and looked at Carey through the dining room door. How did you make out? Oh, said Carey. It's pretty hard, I don't like it. There was an air about her which showed plainer than any words that she was both weary and disappointed. What sort of work is it? He asked, lingering a moment as he turned upon his heel to go into the bathroom. Running a machine, answered Carey. It was very evident that it did not concern him much, save from the side of the flat's success. He was irritated as shade because it could not have come about in the throw of fortune for Carey to be pleased. Many worked with less elation than she had just before Carey arrived. The sizzle of the meat-frying did not sound quite so pleasing now that Carey had reported her discontent. To Carey, the one relief of the whole day would have been a jolly home, a sympathetic reception, a bright supper table, and someone to say, Oh well, stand it a little while, you will get something better. But now this was ashes. She began to see that they looked upon her complaint as unwarranted, and that she was supposed to work on and say nothing. She knew that she was to pay four dollars for her board and room, and now she felt that it would be an exceedingly gloomy round living with these people. Many was no companion for her sister. She was too old. Her thoughts were stayed and solemnly adapted to a condition. If Hanson had any pleasant thoughts or happy feelings, he concealed them. He seemed to do all his mental operations without the aid of physical expression. He was as still as a deserted chamber. Carey, on the other hand, had the blood of youth and some imagination. Her day of love and the mysteries of courtship were still ahead. She could think of things she would like to do, of clothes she would like to wear and of places she would like to visit. These were the things upon which her mind ran, and it was like meeting with opposition at every turn to find no one here to call forth or respond to her feelings. She had forgotten, in considering and explaining the result of her day, that Druay might come. Now, when she saw how unreceptive these two people were, she hoped he would not. She did not know exactly what she would do or how she would explain to Druay if he came. After supper she changed her clothes. When she was trimly dressed, she was rather a sweet little being, with large eyes and a sad mouth. Her face expressed the mingled expectancy, dissatisfaction, and depression she felt. She wandered about after the dishes were put away, talked a little with Minnie, and then decided to go down and stand in the door at the foot of the stairs. If Druay came, she could meet him there. Her face took on the semblance of a look of happiness as she put on her hat to go below. Carrie doesn't seem to like her place very well, said Minnie to her husband when the latter came out, paper and hand, to sit in the dining room a few minutes. She ought to keep it for a time, anyhow, said Hanson. Has she gone downstairs? Yes, said Minnie. I'd tell her to keep it if I were you. She might be here weeks without getting another one. Minnie said she would, and Hanson read his paper. If I were you, he said a little later, I wouldn't let her stand in the door down there. It don't look good. I'll tell her, said Minnie. The life of the streets continued for a long time to interest Carrie. She never weiried of wondering where the people in the cars were going or what their enjoyments were. Her imagination trod a very narrow round, always winding up at points which concerned money, looks, clothes or enjoyment. She would have a far-off thought of Columbia City now and then, or an irritating rush of feeling concerning her experiences of the present day, but on the whole the little world about her enlisted her whole attention. The first floor of the building, of which Hanson's flat was the third, was occupied by a bakery, and to this, while she was standing there, Hanson came down to buy a loaf of bread. She was not aware of his presence until he was quite near her. I'm after bread, was all he said as he passed. The contagion of thought here demonstrated itself. While Hanson really came for bread, the thought dwelt with him that now he would see what Carrie was doing. No sooner did he draw near her with that in mind than she felt it. Of course, she had no understanding of what put it into her head, but nevertheless it aroused in her the first shade of real antipathy to him. She knew now that she did not like him. He was suspicious. A thought will color a world for us. The flow of Carrie's meditations had been disturbed, and Hanson had not long gone upstairs before she followed. She had realized with the lapse of the quarter hours that Druay was not coming, and somehow she felt a little resentful, a little as if she had been forsaken, was not good enough. She went upstairs where everything was silent. Minnie was sewing by a lamp at the table. Hanson had already turned in for the night. In her weariness and disappointment Carrie did no more than announce that she was going to bed. Yes, you'd better, returned Minnie, you've got to get up early, you know. The morning was no better. Hanson was just going out the door as Carrie came from her room. Minnie tried to talk with her during breakfast, but there was not much of interest which they could mutually discuss. As on the previous morning Carrie walked downtown, for she began to realize now that her 450 would not even allow her car fare after she paid her board. This seemed a miserable arrangement, but the morning light swept away the first misgivings of the day as morning light is ever want to do. At the shoe factory she put in a long day scarcely so wearisome as the proceeding, but considerably less novel. The head foreman on his round stopped by her machine. Where did you come from? he inquired. Mr. Brown hired me, she replied. Oh, he did, eh! and then see that you keep things going. The machine girls impressed her even less favorably. They seemed satisfied with their lot. And were, in a sense, common. Carrie had more imagination than they. She was not used to slaying. Her instinct in the matter of dress was naturally better. She disliked to listen to the girl next to her, who was rather hardened by experience. I'm going to quit this, she heard her remark to her neighbor. What with the stipend and being up late, it's too much for me health. They were free with the fellows, young and old, about the place, and exchanged banter in rude phrases which at first shocked her. She saw that she was taken to be of the same sort and addressed accordingly. Hello! remarked one of the stout-risted soul-workers to her at noon. You're a daisy! You really expected to hear the common, ah, go chase yourself! In return, and was sufficiently abashed by Carrie's silently moving away, to retreat awkwardly grinning. That night at the flat she was even more lonely. The dull situation was becoming harder to endure. She could see that the Hanson seldom or never had any company. Standing at the street door looking out, she ventured to walk out a little way. Her easy gait and idle manner attracted attention of an offensive but common sort. She was slightly taken back at the overtures of a well-dressed man of thirty, who, in passing, looked at her, reduced his pace, turned back, and said, out for a little stroll are you this evening. Carrie looked at him in amazement and then summoned sufficient thought to reply, Why, I don't know you, backing away as she did so. Oh, that don't matter, said the other affably. She bandied no more words with him but hurried away, reaching her own door quite out of breath. There was something in the man's look which frightened her. During the remainder of the week it was very much the same. One or two nights she found herself too tired to walk home and expended car fare. She was not very strong and sitting all day affected her back. She went to bed one night before Hanson. Transplantation is not always successful in the matter of flowers or maidens. It requires sometimes a richer soil, a better atmosphere to continue even a natural growth. It would have been better if her acclimatization had been more gradual, less rigid. She would have done better if she had not secured a position so quickly, and had seen more of the city which she constantly troubled to know about. On the first morning it rained she found that she had no umbrella. Many loaned her one of hers which was worn and faded. There was the kind of vanity in Carrie that troubled at this. She went to one of the great department stores and bought herself one, using a dollar and a quarter of her small store to pay for it. What did you do that for, Carrie? asked Minnie when she saw it. Oh, I need one, said Carrie. You foolish girl! Carrie resented this though she did not reply. She was not going to be a common shop girl. She thought they'd need not think it either. On the first Saturday night Carrie paid her board, four dollars. Minnie had a quaver of conscience as she took it, but did not know how to explain to Hanson if she took less. That worthy gave up just four dollars less toward the household expenses with a smile of satisfaction. He contemplated increasing his building and loan payments. As for Carrie, she studied over the problem of finding clothes and amusement on fifty cents a week. She brooded over this until she was in a state of mental rebellion. I'm going up the street for a walk, she said after supper. Not alone, are you? asked Hanson. Yes. returned Carrie. I wouldn't, said Minnie. I want to see something, said Carrie, and by the tone she put into the last word, they realized for the first time she was not pleased with them. What's the matter with her? asked Hanson when she went into the front room to get her hat. I don't know, said Minnie. Well, she ought to know better than to want to go out alone. Carrie did not go very far after all. She returned and stood in the door. The next day they went out to Garfield Park, but it did not please her. She did not look well enough. In the shop next day she heard the highly colored reports which girls give of their trivial amusements. They had been happy. On several days it rained and she used up car fare. One night she got thoroughly soaked going to catch the car at Van Buren Street. All that evening she sat alone in the front room looking out upon the street where the lights were reflected on the wet pavements, thinking. She had imagination enough to be moody. On Saturday she paid another four dollars and pocketed her fifty cents in despair. The speaking acquaintance-ship which she formed with some of the girls of the shop discovered to her the fact that they had more of their earnings to use for themselves than she did. They had young men, of the kind whom she, since her experience with Dreway, felt above who took them about. She came to thoroughly dislike the light-headed young fellows of the shop. Not one of them had a show of refinement. She saw only their work-day side. There came a day when the first premonitory blast of winter swept over the city. It scutted the fleecy clouds in the heavens, trailed long, thin steamers of smoke from the tall stacks, and raced about the streets and corners in sharp and sudden puffs. Carrie now felt the problem of winter clothes. What was she to do? She had no winter jacket, no hat, no shoes. It was difficult to speak to many about this, but at last she summoned the courage. I don't know what I'm going to do about clothes, she said one evening when they were together. I need a hat. Minnie looked serious. Why don't you keep part of your money and buy yourself one? She suggested, worried over the situation which the withholding of Carrie's money would create. I'd like to for a week or so if you don't mind, ventured Carrie. Could you pay two dollars? asked Minnie. Carrie readily acquiesced, glad to escape the trying situation and liberal now that she saw a way out. She was elated and began figuring at once. She needed a hat, first of all. How many explained to Hanson she never knew? He said nothing at all, but there were thoughts in the air which left disagreeable impressions. The new arrangement might have worked if sickness had not intervened. It blew up cold after rain one afternoon when Carrie was still without a jacket. She came out of the warm shop at six and shivered as the wind struck her. In the morning she was sneezing and going downtown made it worse. That day her bones ached and she felt light-headed. Towards evening she felt very ill and when she reached home was not hungry. Minnie noticed her drooping actions and asked her about herself. I don't know, said Carrie, I feel real bad. She hung about the stove, suffered a chattering chill and went to bed sick. The next morning she was thoroughly feverish. Minnie was truly distressed at this but maintained a kindly demeanor. Hanson said perhaps she had better go back home for a while. When she got up after three days it was taken for granted that her position was lost. The winter was near at hand, she had no clothes and now she was out of work. I don't know, said Carrie, I'll go down Monday and see if I can't get something. If anything her efforts were more poorly rewarded on this trial than the last. Her clothes were nothing suitable for fall wearing. Her last money she had spent for a hat. For three days she wandered about, utterly dispirited. The attitude of the flat was fast becoming unbearable. She hated to think of going back there each evening. Hanson was so cold she knew it could not last much longer. Shortly she would have to give up and go home. On the fourth day she was downtown all day having borrowed ten cents for lunch from Minnie. She had applied in the cheapest kind of places without success. She even answered for a waitress in a small restaurant where she saw a card in the window but they wanted an experienced girl. She moved through the thick throng of strangers, utterly subdued in spirit. Suddenly a hand pulled her arm and turned her about. Well, well, said a voice. In the first glance she beheld droi. He was not only rosy-cheeked but radiant. He was the essence of sunshine and good humor. Why, how are you, Carrie? He said, you're a daisy. Where have you been? Carrie smiled under his irresistible flood of geniality. I've been out home, she said. Well, he said, I saw you across the street there. I thought it was you. I was just coming out to your place. How are you, anyhow? I'm all right, said Carrie, smiling. Droi looked her over and saw something different. Well, he said, I want to talk to you. You're not going anywhere in particular, are you? Not just now, said Carrie. Let's go up here and have something to eat. George, but I'm glad to see you again. She felt so relieved in his radiant presence, so much looked after and cared for, that she assented gladly, though with the slightest air of holding back. Well, he said as he took her arm, and there was an exuberance of good fellowship in the word, which fairly warmed the cockles of her heart. They went through Monroe Street to the old Windsor dining-room, which was then a large, comfortable place, with an excellent cuisine and substantial service. Droi selected a table close by the window, where the busy route of the street could be seen. He loved the changing panorama of the street, to see and be seen as he dined. Now, he said, getting Carrie and himself comfortably settled, what will you have? Carrie looked over the large bill of fare, which the waiter handed her, without really considering it. She was very hungry, and the things she saw there awakened her desires, but the high prices held her attention. Half-broiled spring chicken, seventy-five, sirloin steak with mushrooms, one twenty-five. She had dimly heard of these things, but it seemed strange to be called to order from the list. I'll fix this, exclaimed Droi. Waiter! That officer of the board, a full-chested, round-faced negro, approached and inclined his ear. Sirloin with mushrooms, said Droi, stuffed tomatoes. Yes, sir, assented the negro nodding his head. Hashed brown potatoes. Yes, sir. Asparagus. Yes, sir. And a pot of coffee. Droi turned to Carrie. I haven't had a thing since breakfast. Just got in from Rock Island. I was going off to dine when I saw you. Carrie smiled and smiled. What have you been doing? He went on, tell me about yourself. How was your sister? She's well, returned Carrie, answering the last query. He looked at her hard. Say, he said, you haven't been sick, have you? Carrie nodded. Well, now, that's a bloom and shame, isn't it? You don't look very well. I thought you looked a little pale. What have you been doing? Working, said Carrie. You don't say so. At what? She told him. Rhodes, Morgenthow, and Scott. Why, I know that house. Over here on Fifth Avenue, isn't it? They're a close-fisted concern. What made you go there? I couldn't get anything else, said Carrie, frankly. Well, that's an outrage, said Droi. You wanting to be working for those people? Have the factory right back of the store, don't they? Yes, said Carrie. That isn't a good house, said Droi. You don't want to work at anything like that, anyhow. He chatted on at a great rate, asking questions, explaining things about himself, telling her what a good restaurant it was, until the waiter returned with an immense tray, bearing the hot, savory dishes which had been ordered. Droi fairly shone in the matter of serving. He appeared to great advantage behind the white neapery and silver platters of the table, and displaying his arms with a knife and fork. As he cut the meat, his rings almost spoke. His new suit creaked as he stretched to reach the plates, break the bread, and pour the coffee. He helped Carrie to a rousing plateful, and contributed the warmth of his spirit to her body, until she was a new girl. He was a splendid fellow in the true, popular understanding of the term, and captivated Carrie completely. That little soldier of fortune took her good turn in an easy way. She felt a little out of place, but the great room soothed her, and the view of the well-dressed throng outside seemed a splendid thing. Ah, what was it not to have money? What a thing it was to be able to come in here and dine. Droi must be fortunate. He rode on trains, dressed in such nice clothes, was so strong and ate in these fine places. He seemed quite a figure of a man, and she wondered at his friendship in regard for her. So you lost your place because you got sick, eh? he said. What are you going to do now? Look around, she said, a thought of the need that hung outside this fine restaurant, like a hungry dog at her heels passing into her eyes. Oh no, said Droi, that won't do. How long have you been looking? Four days, she answered. Think of that, he said, addressing some problematical individual. You oughtn't to be doing anything like that. These girls, and he waved an inclusion of all shop and factory girls, don't get anything. Why, you can't live on it, can you? He was a brotherly sort of creature in his demeanor. When he had scouted the idea of that kind of toil, he took another tack. Carrie was really very pretty. Even then, in her commonplace garb, her figure was evidently not bad, and her eyes were large and gentle. Droi looked at her, and his thoughts reached home. She felt his admiration. It was powerfully backed by his liberality and good humor. She felt that she liked him, that she could continue to like him ever so much. There was something even richer than that, running as a hidden strain in her mind. Every little while, her eyes would meet his, and by that means the interchanging current of feeling would be fully connected. Why don't you stay downtown and go to the theater with me? He said, hitching his chair closer. The table was not very wide. Oh, I can't, she said. What are you going to do tonight? Nothing, she answered a little drearily. You don't like out there where you are, do you? Oh, I don't know. What are you going to do if you don't get work? Go back home, I guess. There was the least quaver in her voice as she said this. Somehow the influence he was exerting was powerful. They came to an understanding of each other without words. He of her situation, she of the fact that he realized it. No, he said you can't make it. Genuine sympathy filling his mind for the time. Let me help you. You take some of my money. Oh, no, she said, leaning back. What are you going to do? He said. She sat meditating, merely shaking her head. He looked at her quite tenderly for his kind. There were some loose bills in his vest pocket, green backs. They were soft and noiseless, and he got his fingers about them and crumpled them up in his hand. Come on, he said, I'll see you through all right. Get yourself some clothes. It was the first reference he had made to that subject, and now she realized how bad off she was. In his crude way he had struck the keynote. Her lips trembled a little. She had her hand out on the table before her. They were quite alone in their corner, and he put his larger, warmer hand over it. Ah, come, Carrie. He said, what can you do alone? Let me help you. He pressed her hand gently, and she tried to withdraw it. At this he held it fast, and she no longer protested. Then he slipped the green backs he had into her palm, and when she began to protest he whispered, I'll loan it to you. That's all right. I'll loan it to you. He made her take it. She felt bound to him by a strange tie of affection now. They went out, and he walked with her far out south toward Polk Street talking. You don't want to live with those people, he said in one place, abstractedly. Carrie heard it, but made only a slight impression. Come down and meet me tomorrow, he said, and we'll go to the matinee. Will you? Carrie protested a while, but acquiesced. You're not doing anything. Get yourself a nice pair of shoes and a jacket. She scarcely gave a thought to the complication which would trouble her when he was gone. In his presence she was of his own hopeful, easy way out mood. Don't you bother about those people out there, he said at parting. I'll help you. Carrie left him feeling as though a great arm had slipped out before her to draw off trouble. The money she had accepted was two soft, green, handsome ten dollar bills.